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<title>I've Never Heard Your Voice Out-Loud, But Your Laugh's Ringing In My Ears Somehow by Birdegg</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22487149">I've Never Heard Your Voice Out-Loud, But Your Laugh's Ringing In My Ears Somehow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdegg/pseuds/Birdegg'>Birdegg</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ratatouille (2007)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Colette is my favourite, Gen, Linguini is not in this much, Remy and Colette are best friends fight me on this, Sign Language, human-rat relations, kind of????</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:34:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22487149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdegg/pseuds/Birdegg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Remy scurries down her leg and onto the window sill that she is curled up on, extracting the tiny pen that is tied to the book by string. Linguini has been the one crazy enough to commission such a strange writing implement, mostly to stop the fights they had been gathering. Remy was Linguini’s little chef, a rat he had saved and a companion. To Colette, who had been introduced to him more as a boss (strangely) he was a person. Linguini was fine with the vague understanding Remy and his human companions could reach. Colette was not. If this rat could cook, by god he was going to write and tell her how he really felt about her Parmesan sauce.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I've Never Heard Your Voice Out-Loud, But Your Laugh's Ringing In My Ears Somehow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't. Have an explanation for this? I just love the movie, and I'm fascinated by the implications of rat to human communications. How does it work? Do any of the characters ever bring their revelation of rat intelligence into the public consciousness??<br/>And also, I'm a big sucker for sweet friendships across species, so have some Colette and Remy being friends.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s the smell of garlic and onions in the air, mixing with that wet, muddy scent of the streets after rain. She sits on the window, pursing her lips as she takes a drag of her cigarette. It’s a bad habit she hasn’t been able to kick since her twenty seventh birthday, one she drops for a few months only to pick it back up again. Her job encourages a lot of stress. A group of people walk past her window, laughing and shoving each other in the space between the lamp-lights. Their jovial laughter tastes like ash in her mouth, and she extinguishes the butt of her cigarette before slicking into the ash-tray on the window sill.She’s not lonely, in fact she’s probably the least lonely she’s ever been. Sometimes she runs out of fingers to count her friends, but still. They all lack something. She can’t hang out with them in public, and sometimes she thinks she’s going crazy. At least before, she had one human friend, even if their short love affair had been more a predictable disaster than blooming romance.</p><p>She hears the click of nails against tile and sighs into the cold autumn air. She feels a small hand rest on her back and looks down to her companion. He always has looked ridiculous next to her, pink nose twitching and big, sorrowful eyes craning to reach hers. She laughs at his expression. Remy may not have human features, but he had picked up on some of their emotional cues in order to communicate. She holds out her hand and waits for him to climb up before lifting him to her knee, which is almost level with her face.</p><p>“Hello Remy. C’est quoi, cette tête ?” She asks, stroking the top of his gray head with her finger. The rat points his own digit at her, raising his ears. She frowns at him.</p><p>“I’m not sad; I’m just admiring the paysage. Can’t I brood once and a while, or are you the only one with rights to it?” Remy scrunches up his nose and flicks his tail in annoyance. Collete chuckles softly and slides her notebook from her pockets, placing it beside her feet. Remy scurries down her leg and onto the window sill that she is curled up on, extracting the tiny pen that is tied to the book by string. Linguini has been the one crazy enough to commission such a strange writing implement, mostly to stop the fights they had been gathering. Remy was Linguini’s little chef, a rat he had saved and a companion. To Colette, who had been introduced to him more as a boss (strangely) he was a person. Linguini was fine with the vague understanding Remy and his human companions could reach. Colette was not. If this rat could cook, by god he was going to write and tell her how he really felt about her parmesan sauce.</p><p>Remy flips to a new page, gripping the pen in a way that never stopped looking cute.<em>'How am I the one who broods in this relationship? You’re like a storm cloud.' </em>Colette laughed more heartily this time, rolling her eyes.</p><p>“Do not argue with me about this, rat, I will bring Emile into it. He tells me you used to compose poésie about-” The rat pushes against her leg, huffing dramatically. He scribbles against the paper with renewed vigor. '<em>Do not! Bring! Emile! Into this! He’s a coward and a liar-'</em></p><p>“And no one understands me, mom, yes I get it oh so great revolutionary.” The two share conspiratorial looks. The rest of the night is filled with the sound of her voice and the scratch of pen against paper. She will never be able to drunkenly stumble from a bar with Remy beside her, but they can sip wine in her spacious apartment and mock each other’s hand writing. Maybe that is enough.</p>
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